


My Sword, My Shield, My Beloved Knight

by nunwithgun



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Knighting ceremony, Lord/Knight Dynamic, Post-Time Skip, idk - Freeform, not too sure what to tag this, well mid-time-skip technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 17:49:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20586560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nunwithgun/pseuds/nunwithgun
Summary: The time for oaths comes, and Ingrid is determined. Her eyes are dry of the tears that she has shed over her father's words, her heart hardened to the man who called Glenn's sacrifice "needless". She has known the words she will speak for far too long. She has kept them on the tip of her tongue since she first saw the pale-haired woman before her sweep across the battlefield to strike her axe against the Archbishop herself.





	My Sword, My Shield, My Beloved Knight

**Author's Note:**

> very much written in a single day and inspired by by this comic everyone please go like and RT and follow and get caught up in Edelgrid: https://twitter.com/jireemblem/status/1170807041369075712?s=20

Ingrid has always known that her duty to her heart and her duty to her bloodline could never coexist. Being a knight was always part of the plan.

Kneeling before the Adrestian Emperor to forsake her homeland was not.

She feels the hair on the back of her neck raise as the descending blade brushes against her skin there, icy to the touch. The ceremony is no grand occasion like she had dreamed of in her youth. They are in a ruined corridor of Garreg Mach, on the frigid eve of their march to quell a rebellion at the edge of Kingdom territory. Stray hairs still prick at her skin from where she had taken a blade to her flowing blonde locks in anger the night before. The hand she holds across her chest in deference shivers slightly as a draft catches one of the broken windows nearby.

It is rash. Then again, perhaps the ceremony has been a long time coming, just waiting for the right spark. She has served in the Black Eagles Strike Force for nearly three years now without so much as a single pen stroke from her beloved father. Ingrid had sent him countless pleas to see reason and come to the Empire's side. After no less than sixteen notes, she had given up hope of ever hearing from him again. She thinks she could have withstood the silence, if things had stayed that way. As if sensing her complacency, two nights prior a letter with the Galatea seal had appeared at her door in the hands of an Adrestian infantryman.

Her father spoke to her as if her words and wishes meant nothing. He told her of her engagement to the viscount as if wedding bells were still tolling. He begged that she return to where she needed to be: at home in the Kingdom.

Then he had the nerve to invoke Glenn's name, to tell her that she had disgraced his memory.

Something had snapped in her and sent her storming to the commander's personal quarters in an uncharacteristically defiant manner. After baring her troubles to her in full, she had requested that Edelgard take her formally as a knight. The Emperor had been honored to grant the request.

She wonders what the history books will write about her legacy. Traitor to the Holy Kingdom? Lapdog of the Empire? Valiant protector of the Emperor? The steel of the Sword of Seiros pauses at her right shoulder as Hubert drones on from an Adrestian tome that Ingrid secretly cares little for. Though the tip of her spear faces towards her homeland these days, she will not be pledging allegiance to Adrestia when she gives her vows. She will be swearing herself to someone much greater than any country alone, and that fact is very much in the forefront of her mind as the woman she is thinking of lifts the blade to rest against Ingrid's left shoulder.

Sylvain watches her closely from Hubert's side, his expression unreadable. She cannot help but wonder what he thinks, seeing his long-time friend kneel before the woman with the blood of the Kingdom and the Church alike on her hands. They committed themselves to the Empire together, she remembers before sneaking a glance at Felix's scowling face in the far corner of the room. All three of them committed, banding together just like old times and ignoring the Prince-sized hole that had grown in their hearts. She blinks, hard, banishing thoughts of their enemy as best she can.

The time for oaths comes, and Ingrid is determined. Her eyes are dry of the tears that she has shed over her father's words, her heart hardened to the man who called Glenn's sacrifice "needless". She has known the words she will speak for far too long. She has kept them on the tip of her tongue since she first saw the pale-haired woman before her sweep across the battlefield to strike her axe against the Archbishop herself.

And yet, when she gazes up at her liege, all the world fades out around her.

Edelgard von Hresvelg. It had been the Professor who had brought Ingrid under the wing of the Black Eagles, but it had been its leader who had given her cause to stay. Edelgard understands what Dimitri cannot. She knows the meaning of sacrifice. She stands, unwavering, in the face of insurmountable odds because she values the sacrifices others have made for her cause. She cares not for prestige, birthright, or predetermined fates.

Edelgard knows that her fate dictates that she serve the Church for the rest of her days, lying to her country and Fódlan alike to allow Crests to continue to rule the land. Her fate dictates that she be complacent, marry, and provide heirs to uphold the Church's legacy. And Edelgard spits in the face of that fate.

"By the Goddess before whom this ground is holy," Ingrid begins, feeling as if her voice will give way at any moment under the weight of her lord's lavender gaze, "I will be to Edelgard von Hresvelg, Emperor of Adrestia, true and faithful."

Ingrid curls her fingers against the cold steel of her breastplate. Her words sound weak to her own ears, and that will not do. She steels her nerves, knowing that this is what she has wanted all her life. "I will love all which she loves and shun all which she shuns, according to the laws and order of the new world on the horizon."

By the time she reaches the final parts of her oath, she is meeting the Emperor's gaze directly. "Never, by will nor by force, by word nor by work, will I do what is loathful to her, so long that she hold to me as I shall deserve it, and stay true to our sacred vow as I submit myself to her and choose her will." 

As the last word leaves her lips, Ingrid can swear she sees a spark dance across the Emperor's eyes. Edelgard gives a near imperceptible nod to Sylvain, who strides forward to kneel down beside his childhood friend. 

"You've done it," he says, only loud enough for Ingrid's ears alone. She doesn't bother to think too much on what he means as he fastens worn spurs around her boots. Ingrid knows that he has been conflicted as of late, torn between a homeland overrun by Church zealots and a promise he has made to the woman on a warpath straight towards it. She was secretly delighted when he had agreed to be her sponsor. Ingrid knows he would understand her motives completely if he could only feel the pride that bubbles up in her chest when he fastens her new sword belt around her waist.

Ingrid thanks him under her breath, earning a genuine smile from the bright-haired charmer. Conflicted or not, they are still together, and she knows he and Felix will be by her side no matter the road she takes. He retreats to Hubert's side once more, and the ceremony continues.

Edelgard extends a hand and Ingrid doesn't think twice about grasping it in her own. She presses her lips softly to back of the Emperor's armored glove, telling herself that she is merely imagining the slight tremble she finds there. Her body is not convinced, and her cheeks heat as Edelgard pulls her hand away.

"Rise anew, Dame Ingrid," she commands, and Ingrid obeys. "I charge you to serve me faithfully, from this day until your last day. You are my sword, my shield, and my beloved knight." 

It's as if a bolt of Thoron has struck Ingrid's chest with the phrase. _My beloved knight_. It is unscripted, certainly not part of the regular vows from liege to vassal that she has read over and over again in the legend of Loog and his companions. She wonders if it is part of the Adrestian texts for only a brief moment before Edelgard locks eyes with hers, and through the determined gaze she meets there she knows the words are the Emperor's own.

_We will lead Fódlan to a new dawn_, Edelgard had once told her during a meal that they had shared together. Ingrid had dared to interrupt her monologue and ask her why she was so sure they would succeed. 

_With someone like you by my side, Ingrid, I'm sure of it_.

Ingrid Brandl Galatea is no more. She is Dame Ingrid, herald of the new dawn that Edelgard von Hresvelg will bring to all of Fodlan. She is exactly where she is meant to be.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Before complementing me on the vows, I mostly adapted them from a couple of different old English oaths of fealty so I unfortunately can't take credit for them  
2\. Shameless self-promo that my own twitter is @nunwithgun, if any of you would like to follow. Going to try and do polls on what I should work on every so often, so go nuts


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